


A Slower Way to Lose

by Werwolv



Category: Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Amnesia, Bandits & Outlaws
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werwolv/pseuds/Werwolv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man emerges from a shallow grave in 1868 unable to recall anything.. He's surprised to find out that he's a wanted outlaw, but he manages to strike a deal that will allow him to assist in the hunt and capture of his former gang that double crossed him in exchange for his freedom. Slowly, he begins to remember the monster that he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Risen M

 

"Where must we go, we who wander the wasteland in search of our better selves?"

- _The FIrst History Man_

Northwest Texas, 1868

Three years after the American Civil War

A sun bleached cow skull lay buried midway in the dry earth. Near it, a tuft of grass threatened to grow. A few stems of the grass poked at the bones, occasionally scratching at them when the wind would blow, though this wasn't often. Breezes had come far and few between, offering the small lizards, insects, and birds little relief from the sun's unforgiving glare. For miles, the sunburnt earth stretched, providing a bleak and unassuming landscape. There was nothing particularly special about this environment other than the cow skull, the tuft of grass, and the crow that had perched itself on the makeshift wooden cross that protruded from the red dirt like a jagged tooth.

The cross, a crooked and wretched thing, looked as though it had been made from rotten wood and bound together by even unhealthier twine. Its arms bore not an inscription, but a single letter; M.

Imagine the crow's surprise when a human hand thrust itself from the dirt in an explosion of dust and gravel. It took flight just as the dirty and bloodied palm slammed itself against the solid ground and pulled its body along with it. If anyone had been around, they would've seen what was arguably the first resurrected corpse since the risen Jesus. It took sometime, but eventually the not-quite-dead man had managed to pull himself from his early grave and out into the baking sun. 

The man coughed and coughed, dirt and dust flew from his cracked lips. He ran a shaky hand through his filthy dark hair and drew several clean breaths. He let loose with a wild and agonizing scream, angry at himself and confused with his situation. Suddenly, a horrible stabbing pain his side forced his hand against it and he groaned. With the dirt and dust, he had hardly noticed he was bleeding. The man realized he'd been shot. He groggily looked around and sighed when he realized the desolation of his situation. He struggled to stand, and when he managed to he patted himself down with his free hand, freeing his clothes of the bulk of the dirt and grime. That's when he noticed his lack of equipment.

The man patted along his waist, noting his empty holster and bullet belt, finding each slot void of any ammunition. He was out of luck.

The man removed his hand from his bleeding side and turned it so the could see the blood. The man groaned and bit his bottom lip as forced himself forward, making himself walk away from his would-be grave and toward civilization. He could only go so far, however, as the metal lodged inside of him let its presence be known which each step. Groaning, he forced a finger inside of the wound and cried out as he dug for the bullet.

He nearly passed out as the bullet was pulled free. He applied pressure to the wound as fresh blood leaked out. He brought the malformed bullet closer for inspection. It had been reformed when it hit one of his ribs. As he pocketed it, he glanced down at the jagged cross and noticed the letter. He tried to remember what it meant, but found himself unable to recall anything.

He licked his chapped lips. "M." 

Overhead, the fiery sun continued to glare as M began walking.

...

The nearest town took him the rest of the day to reach. As he stumbled into the fairly sized city, he noticed an aura of unease and anxiety. Lawmen patrolled the streets, scanning the dirt and gravel paths with lanterns, suspiciously watching the pedestrians as they travelled from store to store or into the saloon. M gripped a wooden railing and forced himself up the steps of a wooden building that he assumed was one of the town's doctors. With a lazy wave of his hand, the metal knob turned and he stepped inside and up to the counter. The doctor wasn't facing him, however, he was busying himself with stocking a cabinet with a variety of medicines and tonics.

"I'll be right with you." The doctor said. M licked his lips.

"I've been shot." The doctor turned around and immediately threw his hands into the air.

"Oh sweet Jesus, please don't shoot me!" The doctor pressed his body against the cabinet, desperately trying to distance himself from M, who stood confused and frankly, a bit angry.

"I'm not here to shoot anyone. I need help." M said, lifting his hand from his wound which had stopped bleeding a while ago. That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Just take whatever you want, just don't kill me, mister!" The doctor still cowered against the cabinet. He began to slowly sink to the floor with clenched eyes. M's brow furrowed, and he decided to work this to his advantage.

"I'm not going to kill you." M said through gritted teeth. "I need you to fix me." After a few moments, the doctor slowly stood and looked M up and down.

"You...You promise?" He asked, his voice more than a little shaky.

"Now!" M growled. The doctor jerked forward and helped M sit on a cot. He lifted his dirty shirt and examined the wound. Working quickly, the doctor cleaned the wound and opened a bottle of whisky and offered it to M.

"For the pain." He said, thrusting the bottle into his hands. M looked at it for a moment, then greedily sucked the liquid down. The doctor pulled it from his hands. "I still need some of it. For the wound."

"What do you--" M was cut short as the alcohol was poured over the wound. He hissed and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. 

"There we go. I just need to stitch it up and cover it."

"Do it. Quickly." The doctor nodded and hastily sewed the wound shut and wrapped it in a clean, white bandage. M grunted in appreciation and moved to stand. The doctor placed his hands on his shoulders and forced him back onto the cot.

"Rest for a few hours. You look like the dead." M looked up at the man.

"You bid me to stay?"

"I've done my part. It's in your best interest, or else those stitches will burst and let in all kinds of infection. Just rest for a few hours. Only a few hours." M nodded at the doctor's logic and allowed himself to fall onto the cot. He hadn't realized how tired he was until his eyelids closed and he drifted off to sleep.

...

When they reopened, the silhouette of a towering man obscured the rising sun. The shining barrel of a revolver in his face kept him from noticing the man's badge.

"You are one dumb son of a bitch." The man said. "You came back into the town you just robbed for medical assistance? Hell, you scared poor Doc McCoy half to death. I oughtta just shoot you for that alone, but the law's the law. Get up, you're coming with me, bub." M blinked for a few moments.

"Excuse me?" He asked. Suddenly, the man grabbed him and pulled him up so that they were face to face. The man before him had a cigar hanging from his lips. The rest of his face was framed by long black hair and matching sideburns.

"I said you're coming with me, amigo." The sheriff bound his wrists together with a pair of handcuffs and pushed him out the door and into the sunlight. M rapidly blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the bright light.

All around him, people had gathered in the streets and against the other buildings, eager to see the spectacle that had just unfolded before them. The sheriff stepped out behind him and pushed him into the dirt street. Nearby, horses whinnied at the commotion and the gawkers shuffled uneasily.

"Get back to your business, there's nothing to see here." The sheriff growled.

"Sheriff Logan, is that him?" A voice cried out from the crowd. Logan grabbed M by the hair and forced his head up, which he studied for a brief second.

"Sure as Hell is." Logan grabbed his wrists and walked him down the street toward the sheriff's office. M found himself being shoved into a cell and the doors swinging shut behind him. With a twist of keys, Logan locked the cell and rounded his desk and promptly sat down and propped his feet up. He pulled a cigar from a box on the desk and spit the stub in his mouth to the ground. 

"What's going on?" M asked from his cell.

"Quiet!" Logan barked. He struck a match and puffed on the cigar.

"You cannot detain me without reading the charges against me." M said. Logan sat quietly for a few moments, chewing on his cigar. Then, he pointed at a poster hanging across the room.

"You just read that right there. You and your little gang are wanted on eleven counts of murder, six bank robberies, nineteen counts of extortion, two instances of arson, assaulting a lawman, horse thievery, and being a general nuisance. In other words, you're a real bad man." The sheriff said. M peered across the room and scanned the poster. On it was a drawing of himself and four other people. He read the words aloud.

"Wanted dead or alive, Max Eisenhardt and the Brotherhood gang. Reward of ten thousand dollars, last known location Northwestern Texas." He shook his head. "That doesn't make sense, sir. I don't remember doing any of those things."

"Of course you don't. Then you wouldn't remember also robbing this town's bank a week ago, now would you?"

"No. I woke up in a shallow grave yesterday and walked here for help." Max growled. "I don't remember anything before that."

"Sure bub. You can tell that to the federal marshals when they come to get ya." Sheriff Logan leaned back and smoked on his cigar. "I'm sure they'll enjoy hearing that, and I'll enjoy five thousand dollars."

"Five? That handbill says ten." Max said.

"Naw, you see, you're worth five grand by yourself. You lead the damn gang, your underlings aren't as valuable. Which I understand. With you behind bars the rest of the Brotherhood will fall apart."

"I don't know what you're talking about. The Brotherhood? You're telling me I'm an outlaw?"

"That's the situation." The sheriff growled. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to catch up on a nap I've been meaning to take." Sheriff Logan tilted his hat to cover his eyes and folded his arms over his chest.

"What'll happen to me?" Max asked.

"I suspect they'll string you up to dry in the sun." Logan responded.

"That's unacceptable." Max replied. Logan chuckled and dropped his feet back to the floor and looked back at the confined man.

"Well shit, ain't that just too damn bad?" Logan said. Suddenly, Max's cuffs fell to the floor behind his back. He brought his now free hands around to his front and revealed a bobby pin in one of his hands. Logan jumped up.

"Hey bub, don't get any ideas here." He shoved the key into the lock and pulled the door open. Suddenly, Max pulled Logan's revolver from its holster.

"Sorry sheriff." He squeezed the trigger four times and Logan crumpled to the floor. Gingerly, Max stepped over the body and made for the door.

"God dammit." Max froze and turned around to see the sheriff getting up. He stood and twisted his neck as the bullets popped from his skin and onto the floor. The wounds stitched themselves closed and within only a few moments he had healed. 

"How--" Max began but was cut short as six long, sharp bones emerged from the skin of Logan's clenched fists. "You're a mutant!"

"You just made a mistake, bub." Logan charged at the other man and tackled him. The pair rolled across the wooden floor of the sheriff's office, each delivering blows to the other. Max jumped up in time to avoid a quick slash from Logan, who delivered a hard kick to Max's chest, sending him against the wall. The distance between them was closed as Logan rushed up and forced a claw against his throat. The pair stood in tense silence.

"Stand down, Logan." A crisp voice entered through the door. Max turned to see a finely dressed man walk into the room. The man was shorter than him, but he had the same color of hair and stature. Breathing heavily, Logan's claws reluctantly retracted and he stepped back from the outlaw. 

"Do you mind?" Logan growled at the other man.

 _"It's alright."_ A voice entered his head, calming yet authoritative.  _"You're fine."_ Max looked over at the newcomer with wide eyes. The man simply nodded.

"Saved by the mayor. You're awful lucky, bub." Logan said as he plopped back into his chair and popped a fresh cigar between his lips.

"Mayor?" Max asked.

"Yes. I'm Charles Xavier, the mayor of the town. You caused quite the mess here last week."

"I don't remember."

"Bullshit." Logan growled. Xavier closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them.

"No...I'm sure you don't." Logan looked up at the mayor in surprise. 

"What the Hell do you mean?" Logan asked.

"I'm not quite sure what happened to him, but he doesn't remember anything prior to yesterday. You didn't even know your name until recently, did you?" The mayor asked. Max's eyes dropped to the floor as he shook his head. "What is it?" The mayor asked.

"Max...Eisenhardt." He replied. The mayor nodded. 

"What is your other name?" Max looked back up. 

"I don't understand."

"Your gang, the Brotherhood, you all had names. There's Mystique, Toad, Quicksilver, Scarlet Witch, and you. What is your name?" Charles asked. Max merely shook his head.

"I can't remember." He said. Xavier looked at Logan, then surveyed the damage of the room. His eyes lingered on the twisted and gnarled bits of metal scattered throughout. Then, his eyes fell on Max.

"Good."

...

 

 

 

 


	2. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles helps Max find out what happened to him and they meet up with a trio of federal marshals who are eager to accept Max's help in capturing his old gang. Charles also delivers a dire warning to Logan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. I get into some Civil War history here, and it's helpful if you know some things.
> 
> During the war, both the Confederate and the Union armies set up prisoner of war camps where really terrible things were known to happen. The most famous among them was Andersonville, a camp located in Georgia. 
> 
> President Andrew Johnson is mentioned, and I don't want anyone confusing him with President Lyndon Johnson.

Two days later.

 

"I'm very unsure about this, mister mayor." Sheriff Logan began, "I cannot stress enough how this seems to be a very bad idea." Mayor Xavier looked up at the sheriff and nodded.

"I appreciate your concern and it is noted. Logan, this may be our best chance at capturing the remaining members of the gang."

"That's not a big concern. Without their leader, they're all but done for."

"I disagree. I cannot help but assume that they were the ones that shot Max and buried him. It seems to me that they were ready for a change in leadership, and I loathe to think of the things they're willing to do now that they have a more ruthless leader guiding them. Max," Charles turned his attention to the other man in the room. "It's been two days since your recent...spat with the sheriff, and your body should be healed enough for me to attempt to discern what it was that happened to you. Should this information prove useful, I'm sure we can negotiate regarding your legal status."

"What kind of negotiation?" Max asked. Charles looked to Logan, who sighed and dropped his cigar to the floor and stamped it out.

"I've wired the marshals in Houston and they are more than willing to erase your outstanding warrants if you can lead us to and assist  in the capture of your gang."

"And why would I do that?"

"I'm hoping I can convince you once I find out what actually happened." Xavier said.

"And how are you going to do that?" Max asked. Charles tapped the side of his head. 

"I have talents. I need you to close your eyes and clear your head. What I'm about to do may be uncomfortable, but it will only last a few moments. It's important that you do not resist me, Max." Charles said. Max paused for a moment, then nodded his head. Charles' fingers rested upon his temples and the pair fell into a hypnotic state of silence. 

Suddenly, an intense buzzing filled his ears and a series of images raced through his mind's eye.

_A blue woman riding a black horse through a dark town._

_Guns firing._

_Metal twisting and groaning._

_A safe's door flying from its hinges._

_A bank teller being forced to his knees and tied up._

_Five horsemen riding into the horizon, captive in tow._

_Himself, standing before the group and telling them to release their hostage._

_A small, greenish man shooting the teller in the back of the head and the corpse falling into a ditch._

_Himself, pointing his own pistol at the green man._

_The blue woman shooting him in the side._

_An overwhelming sense of anger and betrayal._

_Himself, firing a round at the blue woman as he fell._

_A red clad woman hitting him hard in the back of the head._

_Black._

_A horrid buzzing._

_An abusive father._

_A house engulfed in flames._

_Himself, standing proudly in his Yankee uniform._

_His encampment being surrounded by enemy soldiers._

_Himself, forced into a Confederate prisoner camp in Georgia._

_Horror._

_Survival._

_Anger._

_A crumbling fence as he's dragged away from his friends. They've realized there's something different about him._

_Black._

Max's eyes snapped open as Charles' fingers left the sides of his head. The other man sat back in his chair and sat in a state of shocked pensivity.

"Mister mayor? Charles?" Logan asked. The man did not reply. Logan looked at Max, who was shaking with rage. "What the Hell happened?"

"Sheriff..." Max looked up at Logan. "You have a deal."

"Max, could you excuse us for a moment?" Xavier spoke up. Max nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind him as he stepped into the hall. He drew several deep breaths as he struggled to comprehend what he'd just been forced to remember. Silence fell and he leaned against the wall.

...

"You do not let him out of your sight, Logan." Xavier whispered.

"What happened in there?" Logan asked.

"That man is a veteran of the war and he was one of the many captured and interred at Andersonville. He faced...incredible atrocities there and throughout his childhood. There's a deep rage in there, Logan, for humans. I fear I may of triggered some kind of mass realization within him, and it's only a matter of time before he remembers everything. If that were to occur, it's my worry that he'd be unstable and impossible to contain. His mutation is incredibly powerful, he may well be one of the most powerful mutants I've ever encountered." Xavier fell silent.

"Are you sure this is still a good idea?"

"We don't have a choice. i was correct in saying that his gang has found themselves a new leader, and it's only a matter of time before they prove themselves a bigger plague than before. Yes, this is what we must do. Have you wired the marshals?"

"Yeah. They'll be here in two days."

"Good. I don't think we have much time before he begins to remember that fiery hatred burning within him."

"He doesn't know now?" Logan asked.

"No. I don't he remembers his own mutation. It won't be long before he recalls that he can control metal, but he doesn't know what he intends to do with such a mutation. Logan, it is imperative that he does not remember that he is Magneto."

...

It was another two days that had passed when Max found himself sitting across from the town's sheriff and three federal marshals in a tiny diner. They'd introduced themselves as agents Summers, Munroe, and Rasputin. Agent Summers wore a peculiar pair of red tinted glasses, and Agent Munroe was a young woman yet her hair was white as the driven snow. Agent Rasputin was a big man who spoke very little.

"This is the situation," Agent Summers began, "You're to lead us to your former gang members Raven Darkholme, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff, and Mortimer Toynbee, also known as Mystique, Quicksilver, Scarlet Witch, and Toad respectively. Aiding in the locating and capture of these fugitives with authorize the United States to recognize your warrants as void, and you will be a free man. We are to understand that they are mutants as well?" 

Max nodded.

"Mystique...Raven, she can alter her physical appearance and take on the form of anyone she chooses. Me, you, President Johnson, anyone. She's incredibly fast and very agile. Pietro is strong, and runs like a bullet. Wanda can control magic, I can't really explain it. But Toad...Toad is very quick, he has an incredibly long, tentacle like tongue and can jump far distances. At times he can secrete a paralytic agent capable of paralyzing a man for several hours." Max watched as the agents took notes.

"Their last known location?" Agent Munroe asked.

"I can't...I can't remember. We were riding...West, I think. West of here." Max said. The agents suddenly stood and faced Logan.

"We have our heading then. We'll ride tomorrow at dawn. Sheriff, I'm correct in saying that you are assuming full custody and responsibility for Mister Eisenhardt here, yes?" Agent Summers asked. Logan chewed on cigar and nodded.

"Sure, bub."

"Grand. We'll meet outside the stables at first light. Gentlemen." The trio of agents walked from the room, leaving the pair in silence. Max reached poured sugar into a cup of coffee and reached for a spoon, but stopped halfway and looked down at his hand as it shook in the air and felt a twinge of familiarity. 

Logan watched nervously as Max's fingers began to curl and the spoon began to drag itself toward him.

...

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed. I'll update regularly. Comment or send me a message if you have any questions/suggestions.


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